Talk:Literal Nothingness/@comment-24894829-20160308072220
07:22, March 8, 2016 (UTC) Trigger Warning: Suicide, Depression (Kinda), Everything Related That Way I know, I say "I feel like death," quite often, but I've always been puzzled as to why people would say that. Perhaps, if somebody said "I feel like I'm dying," I would understand, for that consists of actual pain, but death does not. If you're dead, you're no longer feeling even a droplet of pain, yet people say they feel like it. I also find it weird, because I know that, in someways, dying is like putting out the pain, whether it's emotionally or physically, from external forces or internal forces, yet it's also like putting out life, even more so, it can be the ending of pain for some, not necessarily suicide, but in other ways as well, not the occurrence of it. I don't understand why somebody would say "I feel like death," when they are in pain, I don't think I ever would, although I obviously do from time to time, but I don't plan on doing so again, for death is the essence of on longer living, and pain is a key part of being alive. Therefore, you're not feeling death, and you're not capable of feeling such until you are in fact dead, something I would hope nobody would really want to be. (Sorry, I don't know what this, or why I wrote it, or why I had to write it so poorly, but it just popped into my head, and I had to.) When I was twelve, I hit my worst point in my life so far. When I was twelve, I thought I loved a girl named Sasha, but I don't know what love is, and I definitely didn't know what love is then. Anyways, that summer, before Seventh, I hit depression and I hit it hard. I didn't leave my bedroom, I had all of my meals (not like I ever ate them, anorexia hit me harder than ever that summer) brought upstairs, and I didn't talk to anybody but Sasha, the only person who could get me to leave my house, only to find out I would hide away in hers for days. If I hadn't had her, I wouldn't be here, and I find it a shame that I'm hated by her now. At 4 AM, I stared out my window at the black sky, and I ran my fingers over a large chunk of rope I had braided several times over, and I ignored every concerned text from Sasha. I wrote a note to her, about how we both knew I couldn't hold on anymore, how we both knew I was going to cave sooner or later, how she deserved a better and cooler friend anyways, how she needed somebody who could be there for her just as much as she was there for me, how it wasn't her fault and never could be considered as such, how there was so much pain in me for leaving her but staying would hurt more. I remember I told her I couldn't anymore, and I guess she knew that when I wasn't answering her messages, something was wrong, because I opened my phone to a line of messages on how she didn't want me to go, how she loved me too much for that to happen, how she was going to call the police because she was terrified something had happened. I tucked the rope away in my side drawer, and I can't believe that that girl is the same guy I know now, who hits me in the throat and calls me out when I'm not looking great, but back then, she was my savior, and I'm forever thankful for that moment. Now, I read something that reminds me so much of that, and I cry, I hunch over and I cry like I did that night, because I was so weak and I feel that feeling creeping up on me when I no longer have somebody there who will be my support like that. I lost those people. I lost her, I can't remember anymore, just her. I'm all alone, fighting it by myself.